Tour Divide Day 17- Post Abiquiu to Post Cuba, 80 ish miles (I think I did a substantially more miles this day but those darn gps files are still MIA)
This day was rough. I was seriously getting worn down and the loneliness was killing me. This was compounded by the fact that I choose a HORRIBLE bivy spot. The night was wrought with drunken hillbillies driving their trucks at break neck speeds down the road I was sleeping next to.
These factors were all exponentially compounded by the increasing heat. This day the temperature would reach upwards of 105 degrees. I was roasting, and not the good kind like on Comedy Central.
As I got packed up I realized that it was going to be a lovely start. My saddle sores were officially the size of large hamburger patties. The numbness in my hands was getting pretty bad. My bike felt like it weight 50 pounds. (It likely did with all the water I was carrying).
The morning sun and I slowly rose up the side of the climb leaving my bivy spot. It seemed like my saddle sores and hands would never start feeling better. I settled into the most comfortable position that I could find, standing with my arms in the aero bars. This postition wouldn't be all that bad but 1) I had to keep my knees really bent in order to keep strain off my back, and 2) The riding was REALLY rough.
The riding on this road just went on and on. I really felt like I was moving in slow motion all day. I had to walk, A LOT. The climbs, the weary body, and the heat had left me such a wreck. I really tried to enjoy the beauty and the smells but man, I was just rocked.
After a nearly day long adventure of climbing up, up, and up (and up), I finally topped out and started the long rolling descent downward. About ten miles into the descending I came across a forest ranger in a truck that was driving in quite a hurry right at me. He skidded to a stop in the middle of the road and waved at me.
I rolled up to the truck and said howdy. He looked really concerned and asked me where I was headed. I said I was headed to Cuba. He wanted to know my route. I took my GPS off my bike and showed him.
He said, "If you hurry, you should be OK."
I replied, "Oh man, is this gonna end up like in Die Hard and I'm going to be over taken by terrorists that are on the loose and I have to fend them off with my ingenuity and good looks?"
He looked at me blankly, "No."
(Insert awkward pause...)
I said, "Ummmm...." and trailed off.
He said, "There is a huge fire over the next ridge. You need to get off the mountain."
I replied, "Well, the terrorist scenario is more my cup of tea but I can deal with out running a forest fire."
With that I was off like only a scared and weary bike packer can be. I literally had thousands of mile in my legs. I was a living breathing diesel engine in that moment... It is amazing what fear of death can do for you. I actually caught up to and passed a Toyota Tacoma that was driving down off the mountain.
I hit the pavement into Cuba and kept on making trail into town. This was a really nice rolling ride and I really enjoyed the fact that I would be able to hit up smooth pavement for the next hundred plus miles.
I stopped at subway and fuled up. I hit up the gas station and found a pen light that I rigged to my handle bars. It was a pretty crappy light but I was better than nothing. I then stopped at a dollar store and bought a mini sewing kit.
(I can't remember if I wrote about my infamous shorts yet.... [Imagine montage music playing as we flash back to my ride out of Platoro CO.] The breeze that kicked up every now and again felt really strong on my right hiney cheek during the day. At some point I realized there was a huge hole in the back of my shorts. It must have been there for a few days, I even had a TAN LINE in the shape of a circle on my bootie!)
So anyways, the sewing kit was to fix the frisbie sized hole in my shorts. I stopped again at McDonalds for four helpings of ice cream on my way out of town. I must have been starving.
As I pedled out of town I looed back up the mountains the way I had come. They were engulfed in smoke. I was pretty thankful to have made it out...
I continued riding into the night for as long as I could. The pen light really wasn't much help, I had trouble telling if I was riding up or down hill. I rode off the shoulder a few times and I realized that I just wasn't making much time. I decided to bed down in the ditch. Another night of highway side exhaustion induced sleeping.... It was magical.
The morning sun and I slowly rose up the side of the climb leaving my bivy spot. It seemed like my saddle sores and hands would never start feeling better. I settled into the most comfortable position that I could find, standing with my arms in the aero bars. This postition wouldn't be all that bad but 1) I had to keep my knees really bent in order to keep strain off my back, and 2) The riding was REALLY rough.
Matthew Lee also opines about how rough the road is in the Divide movie.
The riding on this road just went on and on. I really felt like I was moving in slow motion all day. I had to walk, A LOT. The climbs, the weary body, and the heat had left me such a wreck. I really tried to enjoy the beauty and the smells but man, I was just rocked.
After a nearly day long adventure of climbing up, up, and up (and up), I finally topped out and started the long rolling descent downward. About ten miles into the descending I came across a forest ranger in a truck that was driving in quite a hurry right at me. He skidded to a stop in the middle of the road and waved at me.
I rolled up to the truck and said howdy. He looked really concerned and asked me where I was headed. I said I was headed to Cuba. He wanted to know my route. I took my GPS off my bike and showed him.
He said, "If you hurry, you should be OK."
I replied, "Oh man, is this gonna end up like in Die Hard and I'm going to be over taken by terrorists that are on the loose and I have to fend them off with my ingenuity and good looks?"
He looked at me blankly, "No."
(Insert awkward pause...)
I said, "Ummmm...." and trailed off.
He said, "There is a huge fire over the next ridge. You need to get off the mountain."
I replied, "Well, the terrorist scenario is more my cup of tea but I can deal with out running a forest fire."
With that I was off like only a scared and weary bike packer can be. I literally had thousands of mile in my legs. I was a living breathing diesel engine in that moment... It is amazing what fear of death can do for you. I actually caught up to and passed a Toyota Tacoma that was driving down off the mountain.
I hit the pavement into Cuba and kept on making trail into town. This was a really nice rolling ride and I really enjoyed the fact that I would be able to hit up smooth pavement for the next hundred plus miles.
I stopped at subway and fuled up. I hit up the gas station and found a pen light that I rigged to my handle bars. It was a pretty crappy light but I was better than nothing. I then stopped at a dollar store and bought a mini sewing kit.
(I can't remember if I wrote about my infamous shorts yet.... [Imagine montage music playing as we flash back to my ride out of Platoro CO.] The breeze that kicked up every now and again felt really strong on my right hiney cheek during the day. At some point I realized there was a huge hole in the back of my shorts. It must have been there for a few days, I even had a TAN LINE in the shape of a circle on my bootie!)
So anyways, the sewing kit was to fix the frisbie sized hole in my shorts. I stopped again at McDonalds for four helpings of ice cream on my way out of town. I must have been starving.
As I pedled out of town I looed back up the mountains the way I had come. They were engulfed in smoke. I was pretty thankful to have made it out...
I continued riding into the night for as long as I could. The pen light really wasn't much help, I had trouble telling if I was riding up or down hill. I rode off the shoulder a few times and I realized that I just wasn't making much time. I decided to bed down in the ditch. Another night of highway side exhaustion induced sleeping.... It was magical.
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